


the clothes I wore just don't fit my soul anymore

by janie_tangerine



Series: some flowers bloom dead [10]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Canon, Dysfunctional Relationships, I swear things will get better slowly but surely, Late Night Conversations, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Confidence Issues, Situational Humiliation, What-If, also nothing unlike canon but still, everything you might expect if you read the Theon chapters in adwd, major ASOS/AFFC/ADWD spoilers, sorry plot happened, the depictions of violence in the warnings are mostly flashbacks, this never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where Theon puts himself in the spotlight during Roose Bolton's trial and Robb has quite a lot to say about what he finds out throughout the entire process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the clothes I wore just don't fit my soul anymore

**Author's Note:**

> First: I'M SO SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME THIS LONG AGAIN in my defense I spent the last six months of 2013 trying to graduate and I had zero time for fic, and then this thing decided to fight me tooth and nail and clearly it got longer than I thought it would be (WHAT NEWS), but now that I'm back on track and not as busy I swear I'll try to be more consistent. I'm sorry. I know I suck at this chaptered stories business. I swear I'm trying. /o\ And I have most of this planned out so I will get to it asap. ~~this story is becoming to me what the dark tower was to stephen king and this is a problem I don't want to agree with him on his reasons why it took him ages to put the first five books out~~
> 
> Second: er, this part includes speculation about Theon's merry times in the Dreadfort, so while it's nothing worse than canon (and mostly expanding on stuff I hadn't described into detail but was already mentioned in the previous parts), thread cautiously. (It's the actual trial scene just in case.)
> 
> Then, as usual: the title is from Gaslight Anthem (what news), nothing is mine (I wish).
> 
> Last: ... I'm honestly sorry about where I ended it since it's sort of cliffhanger-ish, but it'd have taken me another 10k if I went on and this would have been published probably next June, so apologies in advance and I swear I'll try to be quicker with updates. Okay, I'm done now.

When Theon opens his eyes to see the sun already up high from his window and realizes that he slept through an entire night without waking up once or without distressing dreams, it feels… weird. He pinches his own arm and it hurts, so it means that he’s definitely not still sleeping, and – he doesn’t exactly know what to make of it. He doesn’t want to think that it’s because of the previous night’s conversation. Maybe he just reached the limit and he was too tired to even dream in the first place. It’s definitely a safer explanation, but he doesn’t know if he wants to rule out the first, even if it means making his life even more complicated and he’s not sure he needs that.

Then again, it surely can’t get any worse than it was six months ago, can it?

He forces himself to get out of the bed, washes his hands and face and even if he doesn’t feel particularly hungry he still asks a maid for a portion of whatever’s left in the kitchens – he knows he can’t afford not to eat when he’s able to. After he’s eaten, has washed his face all over again and put on clean clothes, he takes a deep breath and sits back down on the bed, trying to figure out what he should do now. Robb probably has his hands full, and he doesn’t really want to disturb Jeyne or seek her out in the first place – he’s still not sure of why she doesn’t hate him on principle, but he’s not going to dwell on that too much.

But he’s also dead tired of being holed up in here, especially since he _has_ free reign of the castle. In theory, at least.

He takes another deep breath, stands up and gets out of the room – he can take a walk down to the yard, maybe. Or – anywhere, as long as it’s outside.

Along the way, he’s lucky if he gets cross looks – when he’s doesn’t, he’s stared at as if he’s lower than dirt, but it’s nothing he hadn’t expected. He manages to get down to the yard with his head held up high – small mercies – and when he’s there he merely leans against a tree and looks at the master at arms teaching the few apprentices he has. He’s staring at a boy who can’t be older than three and ten who’s practicing with a bow and holding it all wrong when he lets himself think about what Robb asked him the previous day.

Gods, the idea of being involved in any way in regards of anything concerning Roose Bolton makes him want to go and throw himself on the nearest sword. Because he really doesn’t want to think about any part of his life that had to do with the Dreadfort, and he doesn’t want to tell any of that in front of an audience of people who hate his guts. Maybe Robb won’t even need him to – Theon should hope – but still, it’s enough to make his blood run cold. Not to mention that the months he spent in the Dreadfort, as it is, feel like a giant mass of fog in his head right now. Some things he remembers quite clearly, and it’s probably the worst ones, but the rest… he doesn’t exactly want to go and voluntarily put some effort into remembering what happened in the few occasions he was in Roose Bolton’s presence. Some things should be left alone, and he’s done it quite successfully until now, and there are entire weeks that he’s actively not trying to recall, but if Robb needs him to do it, he knows he won’t refuse. Not that he _couldn’t_ say no, he knows he could, but the notion still feels somewhat wrong all over again, and he feels so frustrated that he could punch the damn tree and probably hurt his hand.

“Something tells me you aren’t having a good day yet.”

Theon doesn’t scream out just because of sheer force of will – he hadn’t heard ser Davos at all. He’s standing at his right, not too close, looking… concerned is the closest he can think of, but it’s not quite that.

“Not exactly. I was just… thinking about something that I’d rather not think about. But I’ll have to, at some point.”

“You’re also looking at that lad as if he’s the scum of the earth.”

“… I am?”

“Pretty much.”

Well, good thing that no one else noticed him doing it, or it would have just have brought trouble he doesn’t care for.

“I suppose I’m envious. Also, he’s doing it wrong, but it won’t be me making anyone notice it.”

Not that he’s envious because the kid has whole hands – he supposes that he still could use a bow even if he’s two fingers short –, he’s envious because pardoned or no, he couldn’t just stride into the yard and start practicing. Ser Davos thankfully doesn’t elaborate on that further, but when he speaks again Theon thinks that maybe it would have been better if he had.

“Not that you couldn’t arrange to be in his place when no one else is around, but I guess you have other things to worry about.”

“I – I do?”

“Your king wants to see you as soon as possible. Roose Bolton’s trial is early in the afternoon and he said he wants to talk to you.”

“And – why are –”

“Why did he send me to tell you? He didn’t, but since I saw you here obviously the maids he had in fact sent hadn’t found you yet.”

 _Damn_. He will have to be there, won’t he?

“Thank you. I – I will go see him then.”

He leaves feeling as if his stomach is made of lead. He makes his way to Hoster Tully’s solar and he’s let in without a fuss – at least that. Robb is inside, looking for all intents like someone who’d rather be anywhere other than the place he’s in.

“You said you wanted to see me?”

“Oh, there you are. Yes, though I guess you won’t like the reasons why.”

“You need me at the trial, don’t you?”

Robb sighs and nods, throwing on the table the pieces of paper he had in his hands - they’re full of crossed names.

“I wish I didn’t, but I have to. The spy I sent to the village to test the waters came back this morning with nothing – no one is talking. The one I sent to the dungeons is still down there and has found out more, but from what they told my great-uncle before they were moved to another cell, it looks like they kept Bolton’s involvement under wraps. Everyone agrees that he was among the perpetrators and that he had decided to switch sides long before it came to pass, but when pressed for details no one knows. The only person who might know is Lothar Frey, who _seems_ to have been the one coming up with the actual plan, but I highly doubt that he would tell me what went down. As it is, I don’t have more against him than what I have against Bolton. Hells, I have more against bloody Ryman, since he tried to kill me directly. Sure, I could still take his head, but – I was stupid enough to grant him the trial, I have to go through with it.”

“That’s fine,” Theon answers, even if it’s nowhere near fucking fine. “Just – ask very direct questions if you have to. I’m not going to be much useful if you don’t.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that at all, but – thank you. I want this to be done and over before sundown, so – I’ll send someone to your room when it’s time.”

Theon nods and leaves the room feeling like his entire body has turned into lead.

Good thing he treasured last night’s decent sleep, because he’s pretty sure that after this is over it won’t come so easily for a long time.

\--

Riverrun’s main hall looks so gloomy that for a moment Theon misses the times Ned Stark brought him over to witness fucking executions. He’s entirely aware that he shouldn’t be thinking that or missing being reminded every other week that he could be the one with his neck on the chopping block, but at least it was quick and relatively painless and there weren’t _so many fucking people_. The room is crawling with both soldiers and servants, and he’s the only one in the line of people supposed to testify that doesn’t have his hands chained. Of course, everyone is staring at him as if they’d be glad if he belonged in that group – gods, he so does not need these people to know, but he’s not going to refuse Robb if he can help it.

He takes a deep breath and shivers even if he’s wearing too many layers.

When Robb walks inside the room from one side and Roose Bolton is brought in from the other, it doesn’t get any better. Robb looks like someone who hasn’t slept in weeks and who won’t take this kind of pressure much longer, Bolton looks entirely too calm and collected and Theon wants to hurl at the sight. He had never thought that he was _entirely_ too similar to his bastard, from the outside, but now even glancing at him makes him think about Ramsay fucking Snow and he has no clue of how he’s supposed to go through with the next hour or so.

At least everyone has fallen silent.

Robb stands in front of his grandfather’s high seat and clears his throat.

“Lord Bolton, I’m not going to waste time with formalities and I sincerely hope that this matter is resolved quickly. You stand on trial in front of the gods because of your involvement in the Red Wedding. You are charged with treason, with having played a key role in planning my own demise and with having taken an active part in carrying the deed out. And, as a minor offense, you and your now deceased bastard directly disobeyed my orders when dealing with my prisoners, since as far as I’m concerned flaying has been outlawed in the North long ago, and there was plenty of proof to the contrary in your dungeons. That’s more than enough for me to take your head. Do you have anything to say in your defense before the witnesses are questioned?”

Bolton’s small smile makes Theon’s blood run cold. He doesn’t like how calm and collected he looks like.

“Your Grace, I am afraid that you have been told false information.”

“How exactly?”

“I will not deny my involvement in this rather unfortunate circumstance. However, I did not plan your or anyone else’s demise actively. I was at the Twins, but I did not carry out any of the killings, and I only agreed to it because… a man has to do what he has to in order not to be on the losing side, and you will agree that just before the wedding your own side did not look winning at all. I won’t deny that I turned my cloak, but it was for my own safety – and you certainly will not consider _merely_ treason a reason to take my head, since I hear that you don’t consider it a capital offense on its own.”

To Robb’s credit, his face doesn’t falter, but Theon can’t help flinching the moment a couple of guards stare at him as if he’s the scum of the earth all over again. Of course. Robb forgave _him_ – if Bolton didn’t do much worse, Robb doesn’t have a reason to kill him rather than send him to the Wall, does he? After all, Theon did go and conquer Robb’s own castle and pretended to kill his own brothers. The fact that everyone in the army knows that they aren’t really dead doesn’t change much.

“Very well, we’re going to see what do the other prisoners have to say about it. And you would do better not to try and judge my decisions,” Robb replies, and Theon hopes that these people realize that if they give him Robb more reason to cut Bolton’s head they have more than a good chance to go to the Wall rather than on a hanging rack.

If only.

It doesn’t take long to realize that if there’s one thing anyone named Frey in this room doesn’t lack, that’s being faithful to their own.

Everyone backs up Bolton’s story, even if to Theon’s ears it’s obvious that no one is telling the truth. He’s spent enough time with Ramsay Snow to become painfully aware of how someone sounds when they’re lying, and all of of them are as they swear to that story and say that Bolton merely lent them men but didn’t take action himself. Robb’s knuckles go white around the high chair’s armrest, and this entire situation is _bad_ , because as far as these people are concerned, no one who was taken prisoner and survived the wedding actually saw Bolton do anything, so Robb doesn’t have another word against it.

When everyone but him has spoken, no one has stepped out of line and Theon cannot exactly step forward and call them all liars, because what would he know?

“And what do you have to say about your treatment of the prisoners?” Robb asks Bolton when he’s done with the questioning, but Theon can see it in the way he’s holding himself straight and perfectly still and thrumming with anger – he’s grasping at straws.

“As for what concerns flaying my prisoners, I will admit that it was… a mistake on my own part. I should have never given my son free reign over the dungeons, but in my defense, I was not always there to check on him, and – well, he did get the work done, albeit not strictly according to the law. Also, I had no clue he had gone as far as he effectively had.”

 _Not strictly according to the law_ , of course. Theon wants to scream _but you had nothing to say that time you both were dining when I was chained under the table_ , but – he can’t. He’s not –

“Also, I do not think that the only prisoner of yours that’s standing in line to be questioned right now and who has spent time in in my dungeons is entirely reliable, seeing his position and all.”

Oh, _fuck him_. He’s backing Robb into a stupid corner because he knows that everyone else in this room doesn’t approve of him even being alive, let alone pardoned, regardless of the other word belonging to fucking Freys. Bolton is still a northern lord, after all, who at this moment doesn’t seem to have done any worse than Theon himself – and Theon never was a northern lord, for that matter –, but surely they wouldn’t care in the face of what he’s done, would they? _Would they?_

“I think my witness might be entirely more reliable than everyone else I’ve questioned until this point,” Robb says, and the entire room goes silent. “But since I can see that you’re about to make a request, my lord, by all means. What do you want? A trial by battle?”

“Oh, nonsense. I doubt anyone would step up to it, I surely wouldn’t be able to hold my own, and I’m not denying my wrongdoings in front of the gods. I merely ask you to allow me to take the black. Your family has always been a friend of the Night’s Watch, after all, and I doubt His Grace would be as unreasonable as another king in this realm has been quite recently.”

Robb visibly stops himself from cursing out loud at that, and at that the silence is gone – half of the room is muttering and saying that it would be fitter for a northern lord to be able to take the black, especially if it’s true that he only turned his cloak at the last moment, while the other half is shouting insults, but it’s not… the biggest half. Not at all.

Theon can’t help feeling slightly panicked – even if he stepped forward and told straight everything that went down in the dungeons, it wouldn’t be enough. _Him_ having been tortured at Ramsay Snow’s hands is everything but what would be considered a valid reason to reconsider such a… reasonable request.

Robb looks for all purposes like someone who’s trying to buy time and who hadn’t thought it might go like this, the man next to Theon is smirking and Bolton is looking so very _smug_ , in a way that feels entirely familiar for some reason he can’t remember, but –

Except that it’s not true.

He can remember why it’s familiar. As stated, he never thought that Ramsay Snow and his father looked _that_ similar in features… except for when they would look at you with the exact same expression, and the one on the father’s face right now is a split copy of one that Theon remembers from a few specific times.

It was when Ramsay was somehow _satisfied_ by the way something had gone. For one, he remembers it from when he had to watch him give Kyra’s corpse to the dogs.

But it’s not that time he’s thinking about, right now.

The time he’s thinking about right now was the one when a long, dirty lock of red hair was thrown at him.

 _Look at Lady Stark’s hair_ , Ramsay had said, looking smug and content and _satisfied_ in exactly that same way. _Nice, isn’t it? I was told that she went mad at the end. Of course, what loving mother wouldn’t after seeing her son die? And Reek, you shouldn’t look at me like that. You think I would lie to you the same way you always lie to me? I wouldn’t. Also because this time, I have a first-hand account. Oh, no, I didn’t kill either of them. But I know the person who cut her pretty throat. Isn’t that marvelous? And I can assure you, I would never think that it was a lie. Not when –_

“Not when it was my own father who did it,” Theon whispers, the entire conversation coming back to him at once even if he had done everything in his power to fucking forget it.

Well.

It wasn’t as simple as that. It’s that, he had never wanted to believe that Robb was dead, and so after Ramsay mentioned that part he had just tried to tune him out, looking at the dead hair lying in the filth on the cell’s floor and thinking _if Robb was dead he’d have given you his hair instead, if Robb was dead he’d have probably given you his fucking corpse instead don’t listen to him and don’t you dare believing a word of this or you’ll go mad_ , but – no. No, he remembers now, and there’s _noise_ all around and Robb looks like someone about to lose a battle here, and a pretty important one, and maybe he doesn’t want everyone else to know, but –

Who cares. He can take it. He can take anything as long as Robb doesn’t have to admit defeat in front of bloody Roose Bolton.

“He wouldn’t be unreasonable,” he says out loud, and he doesn’t know how it happened but it was loud enough that most of the chattering stops.

Damn. Now most of the room is looking at him.

Someone behind him starts saying _and who told you to speak, you_ – but Robb is glaring openly at them and so they shut their mouth.

“Explain yourself,” Robb says when no one is talking anymore. “Is there something you know that I don’t?”

“There is.” He takes a deep breath and looks straight at Robb because if he even locks eyes with someone else he’s never going to finish. “I’m – I apologize for only saying this just now. But – I hadn’t recalled until this very moment.”

“What - what is it?”

“Lord – Lord Bolton over there, _he_ killed your lady mother.”

At that, Theon dares looking towards his left, and – _and_. It’s a split second before Bolton’s face goes back to blank and carefully not showing anything, but in that split second he looks both surprised and _angry_.

And when he looks back at Robb, he can see that he noticed it.

“Lord Bolton, what do you have to say in regards this new information I’m just now being told?”

“Your Grace, I fail to see how _he_ could know anything about the Red Wedding, given that he was in a dungeon when it happened. And all things considered, I don’t see why he wouldn’t lie about it – after all, didn’t he turn his cloak once? How could he even know?”

And – oh, _no_ , even the tone is the same. Though this is colder. And more calculating. But it’s not that different from the times he’d have an insistent voice whispering in his ear _stop with this nonsense, dearest, your name is Reek, what else could it be_ , and –

Fuck him.

No, really, fuck him.

“I know because you bloody son boasted it in front of me,” Theon replies before Robb can step in or ask him another question.

The room goes silent all over again. Good. Because he doesn’t even give a damn about any of what these people think. He’s just so bloody angry he could burst with it.

“I know it because one day he came down to my cell where I was wasting away in company of a couple of rats and with half of the skin on my left arm flayed out, and he looked as happy as you looked a moment ago, and then he told me that he had a _surprise_ for me. He lighted a torch and then proceeded to throw at me a long lock of red hair that certainly seemed to belong to Lady Stark, and I’m quite sure that it had been ripped at the roots. Oh, I should probably mention he threw it in a pool of dried piss, but after all I couldn’t be afforded a chamber pot, could I?” 

He stops for a moment, breathes in and tells himself to go on. He has to finish this. “He told me that she was dead the same as – the same as His Grace was, according to him, and at that point I will admit that I did everything in my power not to pay attention to what he said after that, but it turns out that I heard that entire speech after all. He said that he knew that she had gone insane just before dying because _his own bloody father_ had cut her throat, and I’m quite sure that now you’re going to say that you had no clue of what your son was up to when it concerned me, and that he must have exaggerated it or told a lie. My lord, if I were you I wouldn’t bother.” 

He stops for another moment, then he decides that it’s not worth it to even think about what he’s about to say. People will think even less of him. He doesn’t care. Really, he doesn’t. “I remember one time when you two were dining together, and you discussed the band of outlaws hanging Lannister soldiers in the Riverlands, and my Lord would have had to be blind not to notice that his bastard was keeping me under the table kicking me in the gut whenever he saw fit. Or that the only food I ate during that evening consisted in his leftovers, which he had thrown on the ground under that same table while I had my wrists bound. I still have scars from - from things that had been done to me mere days before that occurrence. I doubt my lord couldn’t have seen the extent of them, since they were quite visible to anyone who might have looked my way. And – and I’m not above showing them to this entire room, if His Grace needs proof.”

He stops speaking and while he feels completely drained and he just wants to fall on a chair and sit for eternity, and if the ground swallows him whole even better, but he dares glancing at Robb, who looks as if he’s about to vomit.

“Your Grace,” Bolton says a moment later, “you would believe someone who invaded your home over –”

“I don’t need proof,” Robb interrupts. “I’ve _seen_ proof, I think. And he did know about the bandits in the Riverlands when he couldn’t have heard of them unless someone had told him while he was imprisoned. But this room sadly has not seen the proof and maybe it should. I hate to ask, but –”

“Very well. During the evening I was talking about, I was wearing nothing but what passed for my breeches. May I come up there?”

Robb nods and Theon makes his way over to the seat. Great. Now the entire room can see him and he’s nowhere near sure he has enough adrenaline to go through with this, but all right. All right.

He throws his cloak and outer shirt to the ground, then he wills his fingers to stand still, and then he takes off his shirt and he knows the exact moment in which the audience sees the right half of his back - it’s when the entire room goes dead silent. He knows how it looks like - it’s three different shades of pink, and the last time a knife touched it, it was the day before that damned dinner. Even someone in the far back would see that there’s newly grown skin on top. Not to mention that he hasn’t exactly gained that much weight - he’s pretty sure that at least in the first few rows people could easily see bones. And the whip scars on the left side as well, but those aren’t as fresh.

Robb clears his throat.

“What exactly was done to you mere days before the occurrence you speak of?”

“The - removal of the outer layer of skin on the right side. Your Grace.”

“I think you may dress.”

No one says they want a better look and good thing at that. Theon reaches down with shaking hands and hastily throws on his shirt and the outer shirt, then grabs the cloak and steps down towards the line of witnesses without even bothering to put it on.

The prisoner on his side sends him a glare and Theon glares back – as if he’s going to let that get to him after what he’s just done. He’s pretty sure that the moment he’s on his own he’ll wonder how he could even bring himself to even open his mouth, but for now he feels strangely… well, not bad. He’s not panicking. He’s not even shaking for reasons other than feeling cold.

Bolton has stopped looking as if nothing can touch him - he looks pretty angry now.

“I think,” Robb says slowly, not even raising his voice that much – the entire room is so silent that you could hear a pin drop –, but at the same time Theon doesn’t think he’s ever heard him sound that icy before, “that while twenty people are telling one story and just one is telling a different one, considering _who_ agrees with you, Lord Bolton, I have more than enough reasons to deny your humble request. And if someone thinks I’m being blinded in my judgment, I think I can trust someone who was about to die for me not seven days ago and who I’m positive has repented for ever turning his cloak on me, rather than someone who had any role in what would have been my death. My lord, the next time I see you, it will be tomorrow at dawn in the yard. As for the Frey witnesses, unless any of them wants to tell the actual truth, the same is valid. Get enough nooses ready.”

At that point noise erupts again – both from the prisoners and from the entire hall, but Theon merely feels light-headed and he’s quick to leave his place and head outside the crowd. He can’t even hear anything straight and damn, fainting now would be an entirely terrible notion, wouldn’t it?

Then someone grabs his arm and drags him outside the room and he merely follows, not even knowing who could it be – this until whoever’s dragging him along stops abruptly. Theon blinks a couple of times before he can actually focus and his vision stops swimming. He’s in an empty hallway sometime near the hall – he can still hear noise.

And - and it was the Blackfish.

“My lord,” Theon croaks after clearing his throat twice.

“Are you going to faint?”

“I – I don’t think so. I just needed to be out of there. My –”

“Spare me that, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you needed to be out. And I owe you an apology.”

 _What_?

“My lord, you owe me nothing.”

“Says you, Greyjoy. I never thought much of Robb trusting you even back before you left in the first place, and I thought he was being a stubborn idiot until this point. Now… he might have died, if it not for you. My niece’s murderer could have gone on his merry way to the Wall with everyone else being none the wiser to what he had actually done during that massacre if you hadn’t gone and told what you did. I also have an inkling that you could have done without telling that engaging story in front of a hall full of people who hate you, so yes, I think I owe you an apology, and I’m sorry for having never realized that maybe you weren’t bad news just because of your family name.”

Theon swallows twice, trying to come up with a worthy reply, but for all he had spent enough time (back before he left for Pyke) fantasizing about the moment someone in Robb’s army would realize that he wasn’t there to backstab everyone, he’s not entirely sure he can come up with anything that doesn’t sound completely stupid. If only he hadn’t forgotten most of the things he used to fantasize about, back then.

“Uh, it’s – it’s accepted then.”

“Right. If you walk a bit, you’ll see stairs on your left. Go up to the first floor, if you want to rest. Your room should be near the end of the stairs.”

“If – if I may, I’d like to.”

“Go, I doubt anyone is going to ask anything out of you at least for today. And thank you.”

“No – no need.”

Brynden Tully leaves after a curt nod and Theon decides that it can’t be too hard to find it in himself to move and drag himself towards his bed. He takes a couple of deep breaths and starts walking – at least now he doesn’t feel like fainting for any reason other than how tired he is. At least _a bit_ wasn’t an exaggeration – the stairs appear on his left almost as soon as he moves.

Good. At least that. Going up is so painful that for a moment he considers collapsing on the staircase and just go to sleep there, but he likes to think that he’s done sleeping on the ground these days, and between that and putting some more effort in reaching his bed and spending the night like a normal human being, he’ll take the latter. When he’s finally upstairs, he decides that if he said that his feet feel on fire he wouldn’t be exaggerating, but at least the Blackfish wasn’t lying about the room being near – he’s walked around the quarters he’s sleeping in enough to recognize them decently, and he only has to go as far as the second door on the hallway immediately at his right to finally get inside.

It’s not even sunset, and maybe he should eat, but he’s not sure he can stomach food anyway. He drags himself to the bed, carefully takes off his boots while resolutely not looking at his feet as he does it, then he throws the cloak over the furs on top of the bed and crawls under the covers, figuring that he couldn’t stay upright long enough to get changed.

He’s proved right when he falls asleep in moments, and for a while it’s as deep and dreamless as he had hoped.

\--

Hours later, though, he’s woken up by someone who has taken him by the shoulders and shook him awake just moments before he could open his eyes himself.

Clearly he had been dreaming about that blasted dinner, because of course it couldn’t last through the night, and for a moment his first instinct is flinching away, but then he realizes that it’s Robb and doesn’t do anything other than slump back against the mattress. In between the candle on his nightstand and the moonlight he can see him pretty well - Robb looks entirely sleep-deprived and like someone who doesn’t really want to start the following day by cutting heads, but he’s also sending him a look that for a moment seems entirely too concerned to be true.

“Thanks,” Theon says when Robb doesn’t say anything while keeping a loose hold on his shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be the one thanking me. Actually, if that was happening because of today, I should apologize.”

“Don’t. It’s hardly the first time, and even if it wasn’t about - about what transpired today, it wouldn’t be that much better.”

Robb sighs and moves his hands away, but at the same time he sits up on the edge of the bed - he’s wearing only breeches and a shirt and he looks a lot younger than he really is, right now. “I still wish it hadn’t come to that.”

“I wasn’t going to keep my mouth shut when I remembered _that_ , Robb.” He sighs, figuring that if honesty is their new policy maybe he should get started on it for real. “Fine, I could have done without the entirety of your army knowing the details of anything that happened to me, but it’s not a hard price to pay. Not as if they thought highly of me in the first place.”

“I doubt anyone could be so stupid to mock you for it when I can hear them. Gods, I had figured how it could have gone the moment you said how you knew about the Brotherhood, but I hadn’t let myself dwell on… how precisely. I just – I can’t even think you spent months like that. I wouldn’t have wished it on fucking Joffrey Baratheon when he was still alive and breathing.”

“You know I’m aware of that, don’t you?”

“I do, but – how are you?”

“I’m – I’m fine?” Theon has no clue whatsoever of what Robb is doing right now.

“Really?”

He shrugs, wishing he were more alert. As it is, he still can barely put sentences together, let alone trying to figure out what Robb is fishing for here.

“I’m – uh, more tired than I’d be in normal circumstances? But – I mean, I’m not feeling any worse than usual. _Really_.”

Robb doesn’t look anywhere near convinced, though. So he takes a deep breath and figures he should just tell the entire truth and be done with it – there is one thing he never told Robb, but he might as well know by now.

“Listen, it’s not even anything new.”

“… _Excuse me_?”

“Not going into what Roose Bolton knew or didn’t… I doubt that there was someone at the Dreadfort who didn’t know what went on in the dungeons. Gods, at times I had to sleep on the outside with the damned dogs whenever he felt like it, I doubt no one saw it. If every Bolton soldier stationed there had a clue then does it even matter that your men do?”

So he had thought that it would make Robb drop the topic, but considering that now Robb looks downright angry, maybe he had thought wrong.

“People actually _knew_?”

“Well, yes? Robb, I don’t get –”

“I don’t get how you’re so - so – it’s as if it doesn’t matter at all.”

“Should it?”

“ _Should it_.”

Now Robb looks downright murderous, thought at least it doesn’t seem directed at him. At least. But it’s getting beyond scary and he really doesn’t want for this to escalate, if anything, because Robb has enough problems without getting angry at things that don’t matter to add to the pile.

“Robb, just – what do you even want me to say? I don’t know why it’s so important to you, but you shouldn’t get angry over –”

Maybe he really should have kept his mouth shut, because the moment he speaks Robb’s expression goes from murderous to downright concerned. All right. He’s completely lost now.

“Right. I have just two things to tell you and then I should probably let you rest. But – first, don’t ever ask me what I want you to tell me. Just don’t. And – you know, if I had gone to the dungeons before killing that piece of scum I don’t think I’d have given him a death as quick as that.”

“What?”

“It was a lot more than he deserved. And I’m not angry at you, I’m angry because three years ago you’d have never even thought about telling me _what I fucking wanted to hear_ if you didn’t agree with it. I can’t stand to think that he made you think so little of yourself. You just told me that it shouldn’t matter that no one ever did anything to help you even if they could see it and if everyone knows it was outlawed when it really bloody should matter, so yes, I’m going to be angry that I didn’t let him rot in a cell enough to get a taste of his own medicine.”

“Not like I did much to deserve it, didn’t I? Maybe I really did think too much of myself.”

He can barely hear himself say it, and he can’t bring himself to look at Robb in the face as he says it, but – well, as much as he tells himself every day that what happened at the Dreadfort would have happened regardless of what he had done and that Ramsay Snow wasn’t _punishing_ him, he hasn’t been able to quite think that if only he had learned how to be a bit more humble a long time ago he wouldn’t have made the same choices.

“Do you know what I really think?” Robb asks after a long moment.

“Not the same things I do, I guess.”

Robb doesn’t answer promptly, but instead reaches out and his hand curls around the one Theon had on his sheet – he had been keeping it clutched against his chest until now.

“I think that you’re telling yourself that it somehow made you… I don’t know, better than you used to be? I guess it would make it easier to bear, but – will you even consider it if I tell you that it’s a ridiculous notion?”

“… Why would it be?”

“Because you didn’t have to be better, idiot. You already were plenty good enough, it’s just that not many people other than me might have noticed.”

“So much that the moment I could take some decisions I couldn’t get one right to save my life?”

“Haven’t we been through this already? I never said your father was in the group of people who noticed.”

“Robb, stop trying. It’s nice that you would, but – I don’t think there was anything to notice. At least I learned something out of it now, but -”

“Don’t. I think you might need to refresh your memory.”

“I don’t. Why is it even so important?”

There’s a moment of silence in which Robb shakes his head twice, and then -

If anyone else had moved abruptly forward and tugged him so close that he could barely breathe, he probably would have screamed. Or flinched. Or – well, not what he eventually ends up doing. As it is, he finds himself standing perfectly still and taking shallow breaths while Robb’s fingertips dig painfully into his shoulders.

“Damn you, it’s important because _you_ are, all right? I didn’t do enough to drive that bloody point home the first time and I’ll be damned before I do it now. But then you’re there calmly saying that your life is worth nothing against mine, and that it doesn’t matter if you do something potentially humiliating in front of an entire hall full of people who might laugh about it during their lunch the next day, and – and damn it, I’m probably choking you right now.”

He moves back enough that Theon can breathe freely, but not enough that he can avoid looking straight at him. “As I was saying. I can spend years giving you this speech. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“Flattered, but I don’t think it’s worth your time.”

“Is that you or Ramsay Snow talking right now? Because if it’s him, then I should think that you’d listen to me over him. I think that I know what I’m talking about better than he ever could have.”

For a moment he freezes completely, not even knowing how to take that answer - surely Robb couldn’t mean that, could he?

Except – except that he might not be entirely wrong. His head is threatening to split and he’s not sure if he can distinguish how much in his own statement is related to the months he spent hearing that he smiled too much and at the wrong things and that he had to lose that bothersome attitude while being flayed head to toe, and how much is actually related to that part of himself that he had tried to bury a long time ago. The one worried that his own relatives and everyone not named Robb Stark might dislike him because something was wrong with _him_.

“What if I don’t know anymore?” He sounds like a man defeated, for that matter.

“Just humor me a moment,” Robb replies a moment later. He moves away and proceeds to lay down on the top of the covers on the other side of the bed, propping himself up on one elbow and looking at him directly.

“Fine.” This is going to be a long night, he thinks, but even if he’d rather not talk about it, if Robb is set on it then he can hardly refuse.

“So you’re saying you’re better now. Good. Just tell me how.”

“What?”

“Tell me something that changed for the better in between then and now. Come on. I’m listening.”

He’s also looking at him as if he’s positive that Theon won’t come up with some valid explanation.

“I think before acting,” he finally says.

“Sorry, but you’re going to have to do better. I don’t know what suggests you that you didn’t think before taking decisions back then, but I doubt you were _thinking_ when you just about died the other day. Is that all?”

… that’s also painfully true, now that he thinks about it. That time, he sure as the seven hells didn’t think about it for a moment.

“I’m not trying to rile people up on purpose,” he concedes a moment later.

“Theon, _I_ remember how my banner men liked it when you were in my council. So maybe you weren’t just taking it without saying a word like in the beginning. So what?”

“Like in the beginning?”

“I’m pretty sure you remember your first three years or so at Winterfell a lot better than I do, and I remember them well enough. I also remember being the only person who generally didn’t look wrong at you whenever you walked by. I don’t see how it was your problem. And if you’re about to say that you’re not stupid enough to be that proud of yourself now, don’t even do it.”

“That’s – that’s the truth, though?”

“Gods, _maybe_ , but I liked it?”

“…. You did _what?_ ”

Theon can’t help staring at him like he’s just grown another two heads. Thinking back on it, he doesn’t see how could anyone have ever wanted to speak to him unless they had the need, and now Robb is saying this?

“There was nothing wrong with it? Let’s say that the roles were reversed and your father had won the rebellion and I had ended up on Pyke. Let’s say that if that happened, I still would have been proud of my family name or my roots or what have you. Would I have been wrong?”

“No, but –“

“But nothing. You just admitted it yourself. So that’s not the point either. Is there any more?”

He takes a deep breath and resolutely does not look at Robb.

“I don’t find everything under the sun… so very entertaining. Which was a pretty decent life lesson, all things considered.”

“And you learned it so well you hardly even laugh anymore? Sorry, it wasn’t worth it then.”

At that, he _has_ to look at Robb. Who is still propping himself up on his elbow and still looking at him as if he means every word he says.

“Robb, you don’t have to try that hard.”

“I’m not _trying_. I’m going to concede you that you didn’t mean that most of the time, but you know what? I remember how you were when you looked always miserable _before_ , and between that and pretending you found everything hilarious? The second option was surely a lot better.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Because I hated seeing you miserable, all right?”

Theon is entirely not sure he’ll survive this night. Robb must be going to say something that will make his heart stop or some stupid thing like that. He’s done it enough times already.

“Gods, you’re actually serious about this,” he says when he realizes that Robb isn’t lying at all. Not with the way he’s still looking at him.

“I’m entirely serious. I didn’t want you to be miserable. And I always figured that even if you were pretending, at some point you had to mean it, and it still was a lot better than the alternative. So – excuse me again, but none of what you just said means that you’re better off now, as far as I’m concerned.”

“And what does that leave me with? If you’re right, I spent – however many months I spent down in that cell without one single reason to make it – I don’t know. Worth it? If that didn’t teach me anything then I can’t look back at it and think that at least something not entirely horrible came out of it.”

“Theon, that kind of thing doesn’t have to be worth it. You didn’t deserve any of that and you don’t have to feel like it has to have meant anything good, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Right, and would you have heard me out if it hadn’t happened?”

He’s telling that to his own hands, because while that question had been begging to be asked since this conversation started, he can’t look at Robb in the eyes while asking it. He just can’t.

Which is why he sees it when Robb reaches out and wraps his fingers around the three he has on his left.

“Well, I spent a lot of time telling myself that I’d have asked you why did you do it before doing anything. And – strictly between us, I’m not sure I could have killed you anyway. Maybe I’d have sent you to the Wall if you had asked, and maybe things would have gone differently, but yes, I would have. My father probably wouldn’t have agreed, but – there’s one thing that I had to come to terms with, lately.”

“What?”

“That I might have tried too hard to be the same as him when… when I’m really not, in a lot of ways that count. Trying to be him isn’t going to accomplish anything. So… yes, I would have heard you out at least.”

Theon stares down at their entwined hands and thinks, _couldn’t he have just not said anything_.

“It can’t go back to what it was. I can’t be that person anymore,” he finally says when the silence has stretched on too long.

“No one says such a thing,” Robb agrees. “But still. That person was not half as bad as you think. Just consider it.”

Theon is pretty sure that there’s a lump in his throat he can’t speak around. He nods once, hoping that it suffices. Then he leans back down on the mattress because he’s not sure he can stay upright much longer.

“Right,” Robb says a moment later, “you must be dead tired.”

“Sorry, I’m –“

“It’s fine. Just go to sleep, I’ll stay for a bit.”

“But your lady wife –“

“My lady wife knew where I was going and she’s fine with it. I’ll explain you when this entire mess is over. Don’t worry about that, really.”

He _should_ , but he’s really this close to comatose and Robb’s hand is carding through his hair all over again and he’s not going to waste the moment overthinking when he can just stop feeling miserable for a short while.

He doesn’t know if he imagines it when a short while later he feels lips pressing softly against his mouth right before he falls asleep. He likes to think he hasn’t.

\--

The following morning, he wakes with the sun. He’s alone, of course, and the other side of the bed is long cold, but he has slept through what remained of the night without a problem and that’s plenty enough. He stands up, goes about his morning routine and washes his face and hands twice before getting fully dressed, and if he feels slightly warmer just thinking that he’s wearing clothes with the Stark sigils on, no one has to know. When he walks down to the yard, it’s already crowded. He goes in a small alcove on the left, close enough to see what happens but far enough that no one would notice him if they didn’t pay attention.

He shudders when he looks at the part of the yard where the witnesses were hung yesterday evening - the bodies are still there. Robb had said to leave them there one night and then to dispose of the corpses, but not before having brought out the next ones he’s supposed to hear out to make them look at the display. He can see the reasoning, but he can’t help shuddering anyway.

Lord Bolton is brought out not long later. Robb is following, looking like he hasn’t slept at all, and the sword he has at his side has the hilt hidden by his cloak, but it’s bigger than the one he usually wears.

Theon is pretty sure he knows what it means, but… would Robb really use _that_ sword? He doesn’t know if it’s a good move or a terrible one.

When Robb asks Lord Bolton if he has any last words, he receives no answer.

“Then I shall be done with you. In the name of the old gods, I sentence you to die. And I’m going to do it with my father’s steel.”

The entire audience goes even more silent.

He was right. Robb unsheathes his sword without saying a thing and… yes, it’s the one Jaime Lannister gave him back when they were heading for the Twins. The blade is still that black color with streaks of red in it, but the hilt doesn’t have a lion anymore – it’s a Stark wolf. Of course he only had time to have the hilt reforged rather than the entire sword. Regardless, there’s no doubt that it’s Valyrian steel.

Lord Bolton’s eyes go wide. Of course they do.

“My lady mother sends her regards,” Robb says coldly, and then he swings the sword.

The head falls down in a clean, neat stroke.

Then Robb looks down at the crowd.

“I doubt there are Lannister spies stupid enough to be among you all, but if there are, you can tell your precious queen regent that she’s welcome to try and get it back, but I somehow doubt she has the means.”

Then he turns his back to the entire scene and walks back into the castle.

Theon moves away from his alcove and creeps back inside the castle using a door that leads to the kitchens – he’s not going to mingle with everyone else – and then he ponders if maybe he should just go back upstairs and wait this out, but the moment he heads back for his room he see the Blackfish coming from the other way.

“Ah, there you are.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He wants to see you. Can you get upstairs?”

“Of course. To the solar?”

“Yes. Take your time, the next trial isn’t starting until late afternoon.”

Theon lets him leave and then goes for the solar instead of his room. It takes him entirely too long, and his feet are screaming out in pain when he finally knocks on the door. Robb is inside, sitting at the desk and looking entirely too pale.

Theon lets himself inside and closes the door.

“Did you want me to come?”

“Take a seat,” Robb answers, looking up at him. Hells, he looks pretty terrible - just slightly better than he did after he came back from the Brotherhood’s camp.

“Did you even get some sleep?”

“Not really. Catelyn woke up just when I fell asleep and there was no going back to it after. It wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.”

“Are you all right?”

“I want to vomit,” Robb replies without even thinking about it. There’s still blood all over his armor and underneath his nails. “And this evening I have Ryman Frey to behead along with maybe some others, if this afternoon goes the way I fear. At least it’s going to be neat this time.”

“… This time?”

“Long story. I had to behead someone else before the Red Wedding. I didn’t have Valyrian steel and it took some three tries. I’ll be glad if it doesn’t have to be like that again.”

“Was that the only reason you used that sword?”

“Not really. I just want to be done. Stannis will be here shortly enough. Also, Brienne said that she and Lannister were going to the Vale. Any news will be less quick to get there, and it’s not like either of them would pass unnoticed in the first place if they stopped being cautious – considering that no one had taken notice of them for weeks, I trust that they can take care of themselves. Also, Lannister turned his cloak long ago and the entire realm is well-aware of it, so I doubt I can make things any worse by using a sword that should have been mine by rights.”

Which is an entirely good point. Theon takes a seat and moves it closer to Robb’s, wondering if there’s anything he could do or say, but nothing sounds appropriate.

“Did _you_ get some sleep at least?” Robb asks instead.

“Yes. Thank you, by the way.”

“There’s no need to say it. Really.”

Robb stares down at his slightly trembling hands and Theon feels at the end of his wits. What should he even do now? He feels like he has no damned clue, but –

_What would you have done, before?_

No question. The old him would have stood up and acted. Maybe suggested Robb to blow off some steam shooting some arrows in the yard. Or maybe forced him to take some rest. But the old him knew he could, he knew that it would have been welcomed, he hadn’t done anything to ruin things between them yet. On the other side, he knows a lot better.

 _Do you?_ , a treacherous part of him asks. _Do you really? Because from what he said yesterday, maybe he doesn’t, and considering what’s been going on since you almost died all over again, he doesn’t care about what’s changed in between then and now._

He’s still nowhere near sure that Robb is right about it.

Still, he decides that maybe he should just stop thinking about it and act, and so he moves slightly closer and reaches out, putting his good hand over the both of Robb’s – they were near enough to do it easily, and gods now they’re pressed side to side and seeing that his own hands are a lot cleaner than Robb’s doesn’t compute at all, but if only he finds out where he goes from now, it would be enough.

Robb’s hands stop shaking a moment later, and he breathes in for a moment before turning to look at him. Damn. They’re _this_ close, and the door is unlocked, and this is a bad idea under every circumstance, except that Robb looks grateful and what should he even do? He puts his left arm around Robb’s shoulder, not even knowing what he’s aiming at until Robb’s head falls down against the hollow of his neck and he doesn’t move at all after then.

He doesn’t dare move, not really, and he has no clue of how long they stay like that, Robb’s breathing coming against his throat in uneven pauses, but at some point Robb moves away. His eyes are red-rimmed and the underside is too dark for his tastes, but he looks slightly better. Theon’s hand is still touching both of his.

He’s not hearing anyone coming down the hallway.

He has no clue of what he’s even thinking when he moves his hand so that it grabs Robb’s wrist. He glances down at it, and the palm isn’t covered in blood, and if he keeps on thinking about it he’s never going to do it, so he just stops doing it and at that point it feels almost familiar to move his own hand so that it covers its back, and to bring it upwards and kiss the palm. As he does it he can’t help thinking _what am I doing why am I pushing this I should stop_ , but the corners of Robb’s mouth turn upwards instead, and there’s a moment when he looks at him and Theon is sure he has rarely seen him this happy since – since Robb found him in the Dreadfort, maybe. He keeps on holding Robb’s hand upwards, inches from his mouth, wishing he could bring himself to kiss the back too but he’s not sure he can do it until it’s covered in blood, but maybe there’s no need.

For a wild, mad moment he thinks _what if I kissed his mouth instead_ , but then he hears steps belonging to someone running through the hallway and he moves back at once, putting his seat as far as he can. Robb seems to get it and proceeds to sit back with his front to the door, but at least his hands aren’t trembling anymore.

The door is slammed back open a moment later. It’s the Blackfish, and… he looks entirely out of breath.

Which is an entirely strange look on him - Theon has rarely seen him being that… well, not kept together.

“R – Your Grace,” he says as he steps inside with another guard. “Sorry to intrude like this, but – something’s happened.”

“What?” Robb asks, tentatively, as if he can’t stomach any more bad news.

“You told me to send a few men to inquire about your younger sister. They were about to leave, but – there’s no need anymore.”

“There’s… no need?”

“Sandor Clegane has just showed up at the gate. He says – he says that he wants to speak to you. And that he’d be more than glad to give you back your sister, if you agree to his terms.”

“Have you heard them?”

“I did,” the Blackfish agrees. “And – I think they’re quite reasonable.”

“Very well,” Robb says, his voice audibly not steady. “Bring him up. Now. And – well. Unless he’s threatening someone, don’t treat him as if he were a prisoner. If he just wants to say his piece, there is no need for that.”

Brynden Tully nods and leaves at once, a few guards following him.

Theon decides it’s high time he leaves. He has definitely overstayed his welcome.

“Robb, I have to go.”

“… Sorry?”

“I can’t stay. What, _I_ am here but none of your bannermen is, when it’s a conversation concerning your sister? Even with everything that’s trespassed, it’s ludicrous. I have to leave. Now.”

“No. No, that’s exactly the moment when I need you to stay where you are. But – you’re partly right.” Robb stands up and glances at his right. Theon looks in the same direction and – oh. There’s a door. He has never noticed that before, but it’s pretty inconspicuous and the same color as the walls – no one would pay attention to it, if they were just glancing.

“There’s a small bedroom over there. I have no clue what use it served, and no one has used it in years considering how dusty it is, but it’s still furnished. Go there, take a seat and wait. You should be able to hear whatever we say in here.”

“Are you –“

“Go.”

Theon doesn’t dare question it. The door is open and the room is indeed dusty, but there’s a nice armchair with soft cushions. Theon forces himself to drag it near the door after brushing the dust off the cushions, then he sits down on it just as he hears the door to the solar open.

Very well. If Robb wants him to listen he’s going to.

And then he thinks, _what if Clegane is telling the truth_?

Well, if Clegane is telling the truth and if his terms are reasonable, Robb is getting his sister back, and one part of him is happy for him, he really is. But another, which he’d really like to kill with his bare hands right now, thinks, _and what do you think Arya Stark would say about this situation? She never liked you before this mess and she’s going to hate you now, and she’d be perfectly right if she did._

And he’s damn tired of feeling like he could count on one hand the number of people that don’t hate his sight on principle (or rightfully so).

Then again, nothing he can do about it. He takes a deep breath and starts paying attention to what’s going on, while at the same time he looks down at his still relatively clean hands and hopes against hope (and maybe he’s being selfish, but hasn’t he earned the right to at least a bit of selfishness after everything?) that this doesn’t mean the end of the only good thing that’s happened to him since he stepped on a ship to Pyke for the first time in ten years.

End.


End file.
